


i can't count the reasons i should stay

by oceanvirus



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant Through Season 1, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Partners to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 12:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10854243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanvirus/pseuds/oceanvirus
Summary: A case takes Jake and Amy to Atlantic City, to a run-down motel with one bed, and to a revelation.Set in early season two but let's pretend that Amy and Teddy broke up while Jake was undercover





	i can't count the reasons i should stay

**Author's Note:**

> welcome one and all to another Unnecessarily Adorable Garbage Fic brought to you by yours truly
> 
> this has been a draft in docs for like...2 weeks,.......and the plot was changed so many times..........but i finally managed to wrestle it into something i don't hate
> 
> (side note: a Very Big Shoutout to @scullysthumbtacks on tumblr for letting me yell abt this fic until i finished it)
> 
> (another side note: i have zero doubt in my mind that when amy and jake road trip for a case, she joins in on at least one of his karaoke sessions. it's always to a song that jake put on the playlist specifically for her. in this fic it's most definitely 'i wanna know what love is' by foreigner)
> 
> okay enjoy

Amy Santiago was not one for spontaneity. She lived her life by way of planning ahead and utilizing her organizational skills. She had every detail of her life mapped out meticulously, but every so often, someone would throw a wrench in her plans. 

That someone was almost always Jake Peralta. 

When Jake and Amy were first paired together, no one thought they'd last. Within the first week of their partnership, people were betting on who would submit a transfer request first. Where Amy was all organized files, spotless work surfaces, and colour-coordinated office supplies, Jake was crumb-covered desks, candy bar wrappers, and case files stained with coffee and orange soda. 

Consequently, it was a surprise to everyone - Jake and Amy included - that they’d lasted as long as they did. It took a while, but once they’d gotten over their initial judgements and obvious differences, they realized they were pretty similar. After they had finally found the right balance of give-and-take that their partnership depended on, they were unstoppable. 

Mostly unstoppable. 

No matter how many arrest records they broke, or how many bets they took, they still had their ups and downs. 

For instance, it was definitely considered a ‘down’ on Amy's part when the gang leader they'd been chasing for two weeks decided to show his face in Atlantic City. 

Jake, of course, had been thrilled. If Amy had a dollar for every time he yelled _'Road trip!’_ At the top of his lungs, she could afford to send him in a private jet so that she wouldn't have to deal with the hellish, rap-karaoke-filled, two-hour-long car ride that was upon them.

Alas, fate never seemed to be on Amy's side, and subsequently, she found herself tuning out Jake’s overzealous sing-alongs and putting the child safety locks on her car windows so that he would stop playing with them. 

“Will you _please_ sit still for five seconds? God, it's like driving my 12-year-old nephew to school.” Amy groaned, turning the volume down. 

She looked over at her partner and was met with the most somber expression she’d ever seen him make. She raised an eyebrow in confusion, but it was quickly settled: Exactly five seconds later, Jake turned the radio back up and started wiggling in his seat to the tune of _Are You Gonna Be My Girl_.

Amy rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the road and turning the volume down once more. 

“What’s wrong with Jet? I put a lot of time and thought into this mixtape, Amy.” Jake stated matter-of-factly. 

“I'm well aware. Remember? You were late to interrogating our lead because you were brainstorming road trip playlists.” She grumbled. 

“And it was worth it.” He winked, cranking the volume knob and wailing along to the music. 

The rest of their drive wasn't much different; a few rounds of I Spy, switching seats halfway through, and Jake’s karaoke sessions – one of which Amy actually joined in on – made the time go by more quickly than they had anticipated. 

They were just wrapping up their sixth round of I Spy when Jake pulled into a small parking lot, a run-down looking motel on the other side. 

Jake swung out of the driver’s seat, grinning widely at Amy and gesturing to the building behind him, the light-up sign missing a letter. “ _Bienvenido_ , Amelia Santiago, to the world-famous Seafam Motel. I think it's supposed to say Seafoam.”

She rolled her eyes as she pushed her car door closed, circling around to the trunk. “Classy. Did you at least get us a room with two beds this time? I didn't bring a blow-up mattress and I am not sleeping on the floor again.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “I'm not that dumb, Amy. I made extra-sure that they gave us two beds.” He grabbed his backpack from the trunk, slinging it onto his shoulders and snatching Amy’s carry-on bag from her grasp. 

“I can carry my own bag, weirdo.” She muttered, but made no move to take it back, instead following him up to the entrance. 

Jake strolled up to the front counter, smiling widely at the elderly lady sitting behind it.

“Hello, there. I believe I have a room booked under ‘Jake Peralta’?”

The woman adjusted her glasses, peering at the outdated computer in front of her before handing him a key. “Room 24, dearie.”

“Thank you kindly.” Jake accepted the key, smiling back at Amy before making his way down the hall. 

“Well, here we are. Would you like to do the honours?” He grinned, holding out the key. Amy sighed, taking it from his hand and unlocking the faded wooden door. 

Walking into the small, dimly lit room, Amy frowned. The interior looked like it had come straight from the 70s: cheap, floral wallpaper was peeling off the walls at every corner, and the carpet looked as though it’d been to hell and back. 

A quick scan of the rest of the room, however, had Amy stopping in her tracks. It wasn't the dilapidated state of their room, or even the vaguely stale smell in the air, or the oddly terrifying painting on the far wall that had caused her to freeze.

It was the double bed shoved into the corner, with no other beds in sight. 

“Hey, what are—” Jake’s sentence was cut short as he walked straight into Amy, sending her tumbling forward. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting a whack in the arm, or at the very least, an exclamation of _'Watch where you’re going’_ ', but upon hearing nothing, he peeked one eye open. 

His gaze followed hers, and he cleared his throat as she turned to look at him, irritation all over her face. 

“I thought you made ‘extra-sure’ that we got two beds this time, Peralta.” She spoke slowly and concisely. 

He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “At least there's a couch this time…”

***

The minor disagreement about their room arrangement spiralled, and soon enough, Jake and Amy were full-force with their arguing. The pair didn't have serious disagreements very often, but anyone could've seen this one coming; they were both exhausted, and their efforts to correlate their investigation with the local police were miserable at best. The ACPD lieutenant, an infuriatingly arrogant man named Kerns, was adamant on handling things his way, which annoyed Jake to no end.

“It's _our_ case, Santiago! We’re more familiar with it than any of these idiots, and you know damn well Kerns only wants to take lead on the case for bragging rights.” Jake exclaimed, pacing back and forth. 

Amy sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Jake, they're not gonna let us move forward if we don't let Kerns take over. I just think it's best–”

“But it's not best! You just want to think it's best because he’s a lieutenant, and has more ‘authority’ or whatever. Just because he's higher ranking, doesn't mean he’s right.” He cut her off angrily. 

She sighed heavily before pushing on, exasperated. “Why can't you just respect the fact that he has the upper hand here? Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I'm stubborn, Amy, because this guy is wrong and you can't see past wanting to suck up to a superior officer.” Jake shot back, running a hand through his hair.

She glowered at him with all the heat she could muster. “At least I know how to show some respect to the badge. All you do is break rules and disobey orders.”

Anger swelled in his chest, but he knew this was just a freak argument fuelled by exhaustion, so in favour of not letting it escalate, he sighed and grabbed his jacket. “I'm gonna go talk to Sarge and see if he has any advice to offer. Catch ya later.” He declared as he swung the door shut behind him. 

Amy stared at the closed door for a beat, a semi-shocked expression on her face, before shaking her head. “Whatever. If he's gonna take off then I might as well get some work done,” she muttered to herself, sitting down in front of the stack of files. 

A few hours passed after Jake’s departure, but Amy hadn't taken notice of the time – she'd been working relentlessly, her frustration turning into motivation. Her hard work paid off soon enough; she’d managed to track their perp’s location to a warehouse 45 minutes away from the motel. 

Amy reached for her phone, unlocking it and scrolling through her recent calls. Her eyes flickered between the two contacts next to each other – Jake and Lieutenant Kerns. She weighed her options for a moment before clicking Kerns’ name, holding her phone to her ear. She could fill Jake in afterwards. 

“Lieutenant Kerns speaking.” A voice sounded through the speaker. 

“Hi, Lieutenant, it’s Detective Santiago. I think I have a possible location for Denzel.” She said. 

“Excellent, Detective. Is Peralta there with you?” He crowed. 

Amy glanced up at the clock apprehensively. “No, he left a few hours ago.”

“Good.” Kerns’ stated. 

“Uh...g-good?” Amy stammered, confused. 

“One of my detectives worked a case like this a while ago. They tracked their perp to an abandoned apartment and sent her in alone, making it look like she came on a whim to take him down, but we had a tactical team waiting for the cue to storm the place. If we are to pull this off, I think it might be beneficial to send you in with a similar plan.” He explained. 

Amy frowned, chewing her lip. “That is a good idea. But, sir...I still don't understand. Why is it good that Ja– uh, Detective Peralta isn't here?” 

“Well, there's no way he would approve of this plan. He's too stubborn, and this is the best shot we’ve got. Are you in?” Amy could practically hear the grin in the lieutenant’s voice. 

She hesitated, feeling unsure about going behind her partner’s back, but after a moment of contemplation, relented. “I'm in.”

“Excellent. We’ll rendezvous at your location in 10. See you soon, Detective.” The line beeped, signifying the end of the call. 

***

In retrospect, Jake would've been right to refuse the plan that Lieutenant Kerns had talked Amy into. She realized this shortly after entering the old warehouse, when she was cornered by Denzel and three of his cronies with no sign of backup. 

As it turns out, the ACPD tactical unit missed their mark. Amy was aware to a certain degree that she would have to fend for herself for a moment or two, but when a moment or two turned into fifteen minutes, she knew that there must've been a miscommunication somewhere along the line. 

That's how she found herself sitting in the back of an ambulance as an EMT checked her for any major injuries. Amy must've had a guardian angel or something, considering she got stuck with mostly minor stuff. No matter how minor, though, she was still exhausted, in pain, and frustrated at the end result of their big bust – Denzel had gotten away. 

“Santiago!” Terry’s voice boomed across the room as he appeared in the doorway, jogging over to where Amy sat. 

She looked up, furrowing her brow. “Sarge? What are you doing here?”

“Jake called me a few hours ago, I drove up with Boyle and Diaz.” He motioned to the entrance, where the aforementioned detectives were pushing through the doors. 

“Where...where’s Jake, then?” She mumbled, looking around. 

“He's interviewing a few eyewitnesses. I tried calling him but he’s not picking up. Are you alright?” He rested a hand on her shoulder lightly, concern in his expression. 

“Y-yeah, I’ll be fine. Just...just a dislocated shoulder, messed up some ribs.” She spoke slowly, confusion wracking her brain. 

Rosa’s voice sounded from behind Terry. “C’mon, Santiago, I’m taking you back to your motel.” She deadpanned. 

“B-but the case...and-and Denzel…” She trailed off as Rosa stared at her, one eyebrow raised. 

“Really, Amy, we can handle it. You should go get some rest!” Charles piped up, far too enthusiastic for the situation. 

Sighing, Amy nodded, accepting Terry’s hand to help her down. She followed Rosa to the cruiser, climbing into the passenger seat and closing her eyes. Not five minutes into their drive, she drifted off, the day’s events and the past week of sleep deprivation catching up to her. 

***

The warehouse door burst open an hour and a half later and Jake made his way through the small crowd of crime scene techs and ESU, a mildly frantic look in his eye. 

“Hey! What happened? Where is everyone?” He asked, looking back and forth between Terry and Charles. 

The two shared a nervous glance before Charles spoke up, unconvincing optimism in his voice. “Well, uh…Rosa took Amy back to the motel to get some rest! They're pretty exhausted after all the action today, you know.” He spoke his last sentence matter-of-factly, eyebrows raised. 

“Charles,” Jake said his friend’s name slowly, patience wearing thin. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing too crazy. Just some…some minor injuries on…on Amy’s part, I’m sure she’ll be fine in no time at-“

“Charles!” The panic evident in Jake’s voice caused Terry to interject, clearly done dealing with Charles’ pointless question-dodging.

“The plan was to send Detective Santiago in with a tactical team waiting for a cue to storm the place. They were gonna make it look like she came alone to take down your perp, but the team screwed up – some kind of miscommunication – and got here too late. Denzel’s guys got the drop on her, and he took off when tac showed up. Diaz took her back to your motel to let her get some rest. She’ll be fine, Jake.” He reassured, one hand on Jake’s shoulder and an insistent look in his eye.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “Did anyone else get hurt?”

The sergeant shook his head lightly. “Aside from Amy and a few threats towards the tac team guys by Diaz, nothing.”

At that, Jake smiled. “Well, at least they got what was coming. I can't imagine she went easy on them,” he added, amusement lighting up his eyes. He could just picture it: a bunch of heavily armed, scary-looking ESU guys scared to tears by a single scowl from Rosa. “How bad of a shape is Amy in?”

“Aw, you're worried about her!” Charles murmured in near-childlike awe. 

“Yeah, no duh. She's my partner.” His voice was laced with poorly-veiled concern. 

“Like we said, several times,” Terry said, exasperated. “The injuries weren't too serious. So far, the worst thing was two cracked ribs and a dislocated shoulder. Relax, man, you're making Terry nervous.”

“Sorry, Sarge.” Terry nodded and turned to go speak with Kerns, leaving Jake and Charles alone. Charles beamed at him and started chatting, but the words went in Jake’s one ear and straight out the other, a constant stream of background noise. Normally, he would at least try to contribute to the discussion, so as not to leave his best friend hanging, but he couldn’t really think straight at that moment, let alone make a decent conversational partner.

Clearing his throat, he straightened up, unintentionally cutting off Charles’ rambling. “I’m, uh, gonna go check on Amy. I don't think Rosa’s weekend plans included babysitting an injured coworker in Atlantic City,” Jake smiled brightly, a barely-believable laugh escaping his throat. “Catch ya later, buddy.” He called over his shoulder as he briskly made his way back out the door. 

***

Rosa sat at the kitchen table, her feet up on the chair next to her as she spun her favourite pocket knife around impulsively on the scratched-up wood. Her glare was probably heated enough to set fire to whatever it was fixated on, but it softened rather instantaneously as a shuffle and a sleep-laden murmur sounded from the bed across the room. Amy lay there on her back, fast asleep; her right arm was curled against her chest, held in place by a sling. The bruise across her cheekbone, partially covered by a rectangular patch of gauze, had blossomed impressively since it was first put there by some low-level thug, and she laid at a slightly awkward angle so as to not aggravate her injuries. 

Rosa sighed quietly as she looked over, something close to sympathy washing over her face. Sure, Santiago’s injuries weren't life-threatening or anything, but any damage to the ribs, no matter how minor, hurt like hell. She knew this from experience. 

Her head snapped up at the soft knock on the door, and her hand went to her holster as she got up and walked towards the entrance. Her shoulders relaxed instantly when she looked through the peephole; Jake stood in the hall, worry written all over his features. With a smirk, she noted that he couldn't be more obvious about his feelings if he tried. She pulled the door open and brought her finger to her lips, shushing him before he could even speak. Rosa stepped aside and Jake walked in, eyes landing almost immediately on the sleeping figure in the corner. Something akin to a choked-out gasp escaped from his mouth, presumably at said sleeping figure’s current state.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “How long has she been out?”

“About two hours,” Rosa replied curtly. 

“ _Two hours?_ ” Jake asked incredulously. Rosa glowered at him and he lowered his tone to a whisper-shout of sorts. “Sorry. Why didn't anyone call me?”

“Kerns knew you wouldn't be cool with sending anyone in on their own, let alone Amy. But this plan was the best chance they had at getting your guy, so ACPD made Amy keep it quiet. Sorry, dude. She would've told you if she could.” She said. Her voice remained hushed, but she still sounded as deadpan as ever.

“Don't worry about it.” Jake muttered. “Anyways, you should go home. I'll take over. I'm sure the desire to go smash something is _insatiable_.” He grinned at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Cool. See you later. Don't wake her up yet,” Rosa exclaimed as she donned her backpack and sauntered out.

The door shut, and Jake slid the lock closed before turning his gaze back to Amy. She was still out like a light, snoring softly with her hair fanned out against the pillow. He flopped down into the chair at the foot of her bed and absentmindedly studied her sleeping features; she always looked so gentle and approachable, but it was something entirely different when she was asleep. He’d seen her sleeping before – countless stakeouts and overnight cases were a staple in their working relationship – but he never really got used to the pure softness in her expression when she slept, even when her face was decorated in delicate purple bruises like it was in that moment.

He dozed off on that thought, head leaned against the back of the annoyingly uncomfortable armchair.

***

When Jake woke up hours later, it was to an empty bed beside him, a dull ache in his neck, and noise; someone shuffling around the room. He jumped up on instinct, alert, only to relax slightly upon seeing Amy meandering around the kitchenette, dimly lit by the flickering light above the sink. He noted that she must've been up for a while; she had changed into the pajamas she’d packed for their pseudo-road trip – a faded grey NYPD t-shirt and some dark blue cotton shorts – and her hair was pulled back into a loose bun. 

“Hey,” she smiled, voice soft, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. 

“Hey. Feeling better?” He asked, gliding across the scuffed linoleum.

“A little. My head hurts less, at least.” She scrunched her nose. “I got up to get water and take some pain meds, I was just gonna go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, that's cool, that's cool…” he mumbled, glancing over at the blinking numbers on the microwave clock. _02:43 AM_.

She eyed him warily, setting her now-empty glass of water down on the counter. “You alright?” She asked, a note of apprehension in her voice. 

“Am I alright? Ames, you just got beat up by an A-list gangster and his troupe of criminal monkeys.” 

“Yeah, but it was only a few minor injuries. Anyways, you must be exhausted. And doesn't your neck hurt from sleeping like that?”

He hadn't really given it much thought, but now that she'd mentioned it, he realized the dull ache had progressed to more of an acute throbbing sensation. “I guess. Whatever, it's not important.”

“Whatever you say, Pineapples.” Amy shrugged one shoulder, grinning. 

He stuck his tongue out at the nickname and made his way over to the small couch against the wall, intent on sleeping in a somewhat less uncomfortable – or at the very least, horizontal – position. He was halfway through the motions of laying out the throw blanket when Amy’s voice sounded from behind him. 

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping. Are the pain meds so powerful that you've no sense of time?” He joked, gesturing to the clock. 

“No, no, not that, weirdo. Why are you taking the couch?”

He stared at her for a beat, dumbstruck. “Uh…because I don't want to sleep in an armchair that was a runner-up in the auditions for the Iron Throne?”

“What about your neck? Wouldn't you rather sleep in an actual bed? Besides, you’ve been running around all day and you're probably tired.” She put her free hand on her hip and tried her very best to look authoritative, but the medications were starting to take effect already, her eyelids drooping.

“Amy. You're literally falling asleep on your feet. Plus, your everything is broken. I'll take the couch.”

Wordlessly, she circled behind him and placed her left hand between his shoulders, unceremoniously shoving him towards the bed.

“Jeez, Santiago, if you wanted to get me in bed this badly, you could've just asked.” He teased, turning to face her and waggling his eyebrows. She rolled her eyes, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but winced at the wave of dizziness that passed through her. Maybe eye-rolling hadn't been the best choice. 

“Whoa, whoa…” Jake immediately dropped the joking tone as she grasped his bicep in an attempt to steady herself. His own hands flew up to stabilize her swaying frame, and he gently lowered her down, one hand on the small of her back and the other catching the hand she had brought up. He tamped down the growing flush in his cheeks as her fingers intertwined with his, and instead focused on making her lay down. 

“I'm fine,” she mumbled incoherently. Her head met the pillow almost involuntarily, the promise of sleep too good to pass up on.

“No, you're exhausted, injured, drugged up, and you're sleeping in this bed and there is nothing you can do to stop it.” He stated firmly. 

“Jake…” his name left her lips in a whisper and he could feel his face heat up full-force again. He knew she would keep up the insistence until she eventually went unconscious, and he probably wasn't in the best frame of mind to make a decision like the one he was considering, but Amy had a point: he was exhausted, and sleeping on the cramped-looking, dingy couch probably wouldn't do too many wonders for his sore neck. There was, however, no way in hell he was letting her sleep anywhere but a bed. So he came to a conclusion, and very gently crawled over her to settle in between the wall and the spot where she lay. 

“What’re you…doing.” She muttered, looking at him through eyes at half mast. 

“Compromising.”

She stared at him for a beat before accepting it, yawning as she spoke. “Fine, but you hav’to promise not to tell Charles. He thinks w’r…in love or something.”

_Well, he’s probably at least half right._ He bit back the words before they could make it past his lips and hummed in agreement, trying his very best to conceal the disappointment illustrating his expression.

Her eyes widened by a fraction as she pushed on, anxiety bleeding through her voice. “You can't tell Capt’n Holt either. Or Gina. Or anyone else, f’r that matter.” She grumbled. 

“Scout’s honour,” he beamed at her, before sinking down into the mattress. It wasn't that big of a bed, but he still ensured there was some space between them, making himself as comfortable as he could get.

“Hey…I, uh- just so you know, I’m…I’m glad you're okay.” He swallowed hard, attempting to sound as sincere as he felt. “And...I know they didn't tell me about the plan, but I still kinda feel like shit. I took off, and you-you got beat up, and I wasn't there for you. Or whatever. So…I'm sorry.” 

He listened to her breathe for a moment before glancing over at her lack of response, laughing softly when he saw why – she was already asleep. 

“Goodnight, Amy,” he mumbled before he closed his eyes, drifting off with the soft pressure of Amy beside him, the faint smell of her shampoo in his nose, and a resounding sense of warmth in his heart. 

***

When Amy awoke, it was to early-morning sunlight streaming through the blinds and an unfamiliar, yet enveloping sense of comfort. She didn't remember much of the previous night; in between getting beat up by a team of low-level gangsters and a very irritated Rosa driving her back to their motel, there wasn't much she wanted to remember. Flashes of a malicious grin right before a swift kick to the stomach were accompanied by a slight sense of panic, before a sigh from somewhere that was both underneath and above her at the same time shook her from her reverie.

It was at that point that she remembered some more pleasant flashes – a soft smile, a hand steadying her, a stubborn insistence to take care of her, and a compromise. She slowly opened her eyelids, still heavy with slumber, and took in her position: she lay flat on her back, with her sling-laden arm curled against her chest, her injured shoulder pressed against something warm. She chanced a look up, and her heart either sped up dramatically, or stopped altogether (she didn't really take notice to which it was).

Amy was tucked safely into Jake’s side, her head resting in the crook of his neck. He, in turn, was still fast asleep, his mouth hanging open and his hair disheveled. His arm encircled her shoulders, and when she tried to shift away, the arm just tightened. 

Against her better judgement, Amy relented, sinking deeper into his embrace with a sigh. There were warning bells ringing off the wall in her mind, but she silenced them as best she could and chose instead to focus on how comfortable she was: how perfectly she seemed to fit to his frame, how the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest was oddly soothing, and how she'd never felt so at home in someone else's arms. 

She was quickly brought back to reality when she shifted her head and felt pain ripple through the side of her face. Lifting her free hand to feel for the source of her discomfort, she frowned; the laceration across her cheekbone had split open, and was bleeding through its dressings. Heaving a sigh, she very gently extracted herself from Jake’s embrace, taking care not to jostle her ribs or wake him up. 

She rose slowly, fighting through the head rush that came with standing up straight for the first time in hours. Making her way to the dimly lit bathroom, she bit back a gasp at her reflection in the grimy mirror over the sink; Amy thought she looked like she’d just emerged non-victoriously from a boxing match. Her hair had mostly fallen out of its clip, and the bruise growing on her cheek was a deep purple colour, some green and red splotches throughout. A similar bruise was spreading across her shoulder blade underneath the sling that held her arm in place. Her bottom lip was split, and her knuckles were scabbed, dried blood around a few of her fingernails. 

Shaking her head lightly, she focused her attention on the blood seeping through the gauze on her cheek. She peeled off the medical tape holding it in place and reached into her first aid kit for an alcohol wipe and clean bandages.

The slash on her cheek wasn't too deep, but was a good two inches in length and bruised underneath. Some small, experimental pokes and prods at it gave way to a few subdued grunts, but nothing could restrain the cry that escaped Amy’s throat when the alcohol wipe made contact with the wound. She clutched the edge of the counter and let out a low hiss as the pain slowly faded, breathing deeply. 

A sudden hand on the small of her back startled her, and she turned around with a gasp to meet Jake's gaze. He’d clearly just woken up, sleep prevalent in his eyes and his hair in disarray, but there was still an unreadable distraughtness in his expression that made Amy’s stomach flip. 

“Sorry, I scared you. Are you okay? Do you need help?” He spoke quickly, hands coming up to brush her jaw just below the cut. 

The tips of Amy’s ears turned pink as she averted her eyes. “I'm fine. Sorry, that was loud. I'm just... trying to clean it up, it was bleeding again.” 

“Yeah, I figured that's what happened,” Jake mumbled distractedly, and Amy’s entire face flushed when she took notice of the red stain on Jake’s t-shirt, from where her face had been resting earlier. 

His hand dropped to his side before he gently pushed her aside, grabbing the first aid kit from her and pointing at the floor. “Sit. I'll clean it.” He stated, and she complied, too tired to argue. 

She lowered herself onto the grubby linoleum of the bathroom floor, and he seated himself across from her, both of them cross-legged. Their knees pressed against each other as Jake leaned forward, brushing her hair away from her face and tilting her jaw slightly to get a better look at the wound. 

“Jesus, Amy…” He murmured as he inspected it, then got to work, Amy studying his features as he focused. She blamed the fact that she couldn't tear her eyes away on the lack of sleep; she was exhausted, and that was the _only_ reason she couldn't stop examining the way his brows furrowed at every pained hiss that she produced, or how his tongue darted out of the corner of his mouth in a nervous tick, or how his eyes seemed to soften whenever they met hers. 

“This part’s gonna hurt. You ready?” Jake spoke softly, concern in his gaze. 

Amy nodded, closing her eyes as his hand came up to her face, a cotton ball soaked in isopropyl alcohol between his thumb and forefinger. 

The cotton ball made contact with the cut, and Amy let out a yelp, her hand finding Jake’s and squeezing through the pain. She could hear him mumbling a string of apologies under his breath as he worked, and if she wasn’t so focused on the stinging sensation spreading across her cheek, she would be laughing at how worried he was. 

It was painful and Jake had to pause a few times to let her gather herself, but by the end, he’d cleaned the cut and replaced the gauze with as much care as he could manage, the fingers of his free hand laced with hers throughout the entire process. 

“All done,” He smiled brightly, throwing the rest of the gauze into the trash can. “Doctor Jake to the rescue.”

Amy rolled her eyes, smiling fondly. “I coulda done it myself.”

“You could've. But you didn't.” He grinned, but she could see the lingering anxiety behind his bravado. His fingers still grasped hers but she decided not to do anything about it, praying that he wouldn't either – the warm weight of his hand in hers was oddly comforting. 

She stared at him for a beat before biting the bullet. “So...uh, Denzel got away.”

Jake’s expression darkened. “Yeah. Sarge filled me in.”

Amy bit her lip, studying his expression. “Sorry I didn't...tell you. I thought it was dumb, but Kerns was pretty insistent.”

“No, it's fine. I just...uh, I shouldn't have taken off like that. I'm-I’m sorry.” He muttered forlornly.

She stared blankly for a beat. “Jake, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

He looked up at the peeling green wallpaper, refusing to meet her gaze. “I didn't really need to call Terry. The only reason I went out is because I wanted to blow off some steam. If I had...I don't know, if I had sucked it up and stayed, you wouldn't…” He trailed off, motioning to her injured state. 

Amy's heart lurched. “Don't blame this on yourself.”

“But, you…” He trailed off, finally turning his gaze to her. 

Her hand squeezed his lightly, and she looked up to meet his eyes as she spoke. “Not everything that goes wrong in the world is your fault, Jake. You’re too hard on yourself.” 

His expression softened instantaneously into one of familiar affection. “Thanks, Amy.”

She smiled softly at him, and a swell of unadulterated affection bubbled up in her chest as he shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around her. She returned the embrace without hesitation, burying herself into his side, but their moment of clarity was cut short as Amy let out a pained cry.

Jake jumped back as if he’d been shocked before converging on Amy, hands fluttering over her shoulders. She was hunched over, her free hand clutching her side where Jake had pressed against her ribs too firmly. 

“Oh, my god, Amy- I’m sorry, dammit…” He frantically muttered a string of nonstop apologies as his hands hovered over her, unsure what she needed. 

Jake’s concern practically skyrocketed when Amy’s breathing became heavier, laboured breaths filling the room, but his worry quickly morphed into confusion when he realized she was _laughing_. 

“Uh...A-Amy?”

“Y-you...you hurt my ribs.” She wheezed, clutching her side. 

“Christ, I'm sorry, Ames, I–wait, remind me why that's funny again?” He frowned. 

She straightened up, wiping her eyes and trying to get words out in between bouts of laughter. “You _hugged_ me too hard. Idiot.” She giggled, whacking his arm. 

A grin split his face and he reached out to flick her forehead, kickstarting a whole new fit of laughter that he couldn't help but join in on. He doubled over, leaning towards Amy as the two of them dissolved into fatigue-driven snickering. 

He looked up to meet Amy’s gaze, and was taken aback by the joy shining in her expression, her face softening as she met his eyes. 

Jake didn't really know what possessed him to lean in closer, but somehow he found himself inches away, his hand coming up to brush her cheek as affection blossomed in his chest. She leaned into his touch involuntarily, and suddenly he found himself kissing Amy, her laughter fizzling out against his lips. Her hand came up around his neck, his too-long curls tangling with her fingers, as his arms snaked around her waist with the utmost gentleness. 

He pulled away to rest his forehead against hers, needing more than anything to catch his breath, but Amy stayed, her hand at the nape of his neck anchoring them together. He opened his eyes to see her staring straight back at him, something just shy of wonder alight in her eyes, and he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. 

A knock on their main door and a decidedly Charles-like voice startled them both from their dreamlike state, Amy’s expression settling into slight panic. 

“Um...we should–”

“Yep, we can talk about this later.” Jake stood, holding his hand out to Amy. 

She accepted it, lacing her fingers through his as he helped her to her feet, and didn't let go until they reached the threshold. 

Something about the reluctance in Amy’s face as she pulled her hand away told Jake there wasn't much they needed to talk about.


End file.
